How often do you take a chance to question fundamental assumptions? I’m guessing not that often. For one, who’s got time for that? For another, it can be uncomfortable. What if we’re wrong about something?

But questioning a basic assumption can be interesting, if nothing else.

I’ll give you an example: Do we have to die? There are those who say “no.”

I’ve long been interested in the work of Aubrey de Grey a biomedical gerontologist, who proposes the possibility of regenerative medicine preventing ageing for radical life extension. He brings an engineer’s perspective on the issue of ageing, saying, as I understand it, that there’re only seven types of ageing damage, and that we can come up with ways to treat them without having to totally understand them (similar to the way we can fix a car without totally understanding them). From his questioning of the pro-aging trance to his founding of the SENS Research Foundation, there’s a lot of interesting stuff here.

Have a listen to this episode of The After On podcast, where de Grey is interviewed, where he talks about everything from how he got into it to the concept of a longevity escape velocity. Whether you agree with him or not, there’s a lot to consider.

So, yeah, questioning the fundamental assumption of ageing.

But fundamental assumptions can be anything. Do I need to keep this job? Do I need to have a job at all? Do I really need to eat animal products? Can I trust the government to do the right thing (maybe not such a hard thing to question)? Do I need [fill in the blank] in my life? Should I stay in this relationship? Could I give away all my possessions?

That doesn’t mean that you have to come away with an answer that’s contrary to your current position, but it’s a good way to shake up your thinking a bit.

So, what fundamental assumption can you question this week? I’d love to hear.

How good are you at handling things that need doing? Some people have a tolerance for when things don’t work, and some people have no tolerance for that at all. I’m in the middle somewhere. The dripping tap. The door hinge that sounds like a sound effect from a horror film. The box of receipts that you need to sort for the accounting. That carton in the back of the closet that you know you could get rid of if you took ten minutes to have a look.

Handling things (little and big) can be a great way to clear out some mental clutter, and ease some psychic pressure.

Here’s an example.

We had an internal door that we had a builder swap the hinges on (so it opened a different direction into the room). The hinge change meant that the door knob no longer worked, and for some reason, doing the door knob wasn’t in the builder’s brief. So we lived with a door that didn’t have a knob for (*cough*) years (*cough*).

Then one day, I bought a door knob thingy from the hardware store. And it was only (*cough*) half a year (*cough*) later that I installed a door knob (the first in my life).

When it was in place, there was this overwhelming sense of “Oh, thank goodness that’s handled. What a relief.”

It’s that “Oh, thank goodness” bit that interests me.

I know that it is physically impossible for me to do everything that I want to do or need to do. (Just like you know you can’t read every good book ever written, or watch every great movie.) But the things (big and little) that get handled and deliver that “Oh, thank goodness”–those can be precious. Sometimes they’re very simple (the dripping tap); sometimes they’re complicated (catching up with the bookkeeping). But inevitably, there’s an “Oh, thank goodness,” waiting at the end.

And that’s almost worth it on its own.

So this week, I invite you to look around, and find a thing that you can handle (big or little, your call), then handle it. Once it’s done, look for the “Oh, thank goodness,” and enjoy the heck out of it.

This week, I’d like to point you to an article by software developer Joel Spolsky, Birdcage liners. Spolsky discusses how he has given up reading Twitter and Facebook because they were making him angry.

Does that sound familiar? Ever come away from social media feeling worse than when you got there? Me, too.

What’s interesting to me is his software designer’s take on the problem. Spolsky essentially says that outrage and addiction to the services are baked into their very design.

Twitter, by limiting the number of characters in a tweet, strip communication of nuance, emotion, and sentiment. Says Spolsky:

The outrage and indignation, of course, are what makes it work. That’s what keeps you coming back. Oooh shade. Oooh flamewar. We rubberneckers can’t keep our eyes off of it. I don’t know what the original idea of Twitter was, but it succeeded because of natural selection. In a world where the tech industry was cranking out millions of dumb little social applications, this one happens to limit messages to 140 characters and that happens to create, unintentionally, a subtlety-free indignation machine, which is addictive as heck, so this is the one that survives and thrives and becomes a huge new engine of polarization and anger. It’s not a coincidence that we got a president who came to power through bumper-sticker slogans, outrageous false statements chosen to make people’s blood boil, and of course Twitter. This is all a part of a contagious disease that is spreading like crazy because we as a society have not figured out how to fight back yet.

I can so relate to this. If you search my Twitter feed (I’m @einspruch), you’ll find at least one or two instances where I’ve piped in something like, “Just tuning in. What’s the outrage du jour?” I’m sure I meant that ironically, but I think it is symptomatic of the hell hole of garbage that Twitter can be, and the lure of instant, daily outrage.

Whereas Twitter sort of stumbled upon addictiveness through the weird 140-character limit, Facebook mixed a new, super-potent active ingredient into their feed called Machine Learning. They basically said, “look, we are not going to show everybody every post,” and they used the new Midas-style power of machine learning and set it in the direction of getting people even more hyper-addicted to the feed. The only thing the ML algorithm was told to care about was addiction, or, as they called it, engagement. They had a big ol’ growth team that was trying different experiments and a raw algorithm that was deciding what to show everybody and the only thing it cared about was getting you to come back constantly.

And:

Rather than providing a constant stream of satisfying news and engagement with friends, Facebook’s algorithm had learned to give me a bunch of junk I didn’t need to hear, and only gave me intermittent rewards through the occasional useful nugget of information about friends. Once in a blue moon I would hear about a friend’s accomplishment or I would find out that someone I like is going to be in town. The rest of the time I would just get the kind of garbage newspaper clippings circulated by someone who had too much coffee and is misattributing the kick from the caffeine to something they just read online and now MUST share IMMEDIATELY with EVERYONE because this news story about something that happened to a baby bear is SOOOOO important to THE ENTIRE WORLD.”

I encourage you to read the whole article.

These are very powerful tools that have, quite literally, changed the world. The connections that can be fostered and maintained are incredible. I’ve had brief connections with some of my heroes on Twitter, and meaningful engagements with lots of folks on FB. There’s no question that there’s value there.

But Spolsky’s words fit in with what I’ve seen in my own life, and in those around me. More than once I’ve said to people near me, “If you’re using Facebook and coming away feeling worse, you’re doing it wrong.”

As for the addictive quality, I’ve seen that in myself, too. “Oh! Look! That stupid red circle has a number in it! Better check if someone has liked a post!”

I’ve been on social media for a decade now. I have fed the Facebook content machine, and tweeted everything from humour and indignation. But my inclination these days is to try to keep a tight lid on my engagement with both of them. I wrote last week about how I close off social media when I’m writing or trying to do anything productive. I reckon I’m better off writing a few hundred words more than engaging in the outrage du jour.

My natural inclination in the past months is to go on there less and less. I don’t think I need to go cold turkey the way Spolsky has, but I find that, for me, less is better.

Whatever you do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius and power and magic in it.
— attributed to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

You can’t go wrong starting with a Goethe quote, can you? (Except, it appears not to be from him.)

Still, the sentiment holds. Welcome to 2018, a year in which I can promise you that all kinds of stuff will happen that will be outside your control, and which you’ll care about a lot, or you won’t, but there won’t be much you can do about it.

I mentioned last time that I’m one of those whose not a big fan of new year’s resolutions (wait, we’re already a week into the new year, am I still allowed to talk about them, or do I have to wait until next December?). Instead, I’m a fan of systems and habits that help you achieve what you want to achieve. Want to lose weight or save more or write more words or whatever, think about systems and habits that will lead you to that. What would setting the alarm 15 minutes earlier every day help you do? What would parking further away, closing your Apple Watch rings, or setting up an automated debit nudge you toward?

Also, it’s important you don’t fall in love with the search for the perfect tool. If you’re doing the equivalent of being the writer trying out a hundred word processors instead of writing, then you’re doing it wrong. People (*cough* like me *cough*) who like tech, especially, fall prey to this. Get on with reinforcing the habit or strengthening the system or doing the work.

Here’s an example from my world: shutting down social media. When I’m writing and trying to be otherwise productive, I close down the Book of Face and the fiery hellhole of Twitter, and ignore (or turn off) their notifications. Some people have success by limiting the social media apps to one device (like a phone or an iPad), but for me, shutting them down works. Also, I relegate Wastebook to its own browser (I’m mainly a Safari user, so FB lives in Chrome, which I think also limits its ability to track non-FB activity, but I won’t swear to that in court.) So, what’s my system and habit? Shut ‘er down.

Finally, you have my permission (not, though, like you need it) to screw up, so long as you do better the next day. Did you eat the donut? Miss your word count? Watch Jane the Virgin instead of going to the gym? Not to worry. Tomorrow (or later today) is another day.

So, over to you. What system or habit can you put in place to ring in the new year and help you say next December, “Well, that was worth doing.”?

Billie and I have a tradition. Every new year’s eve, we look back and list our gratitudes for the past year. Sometimes we’ll also look forward and do goals, but it is the gratitudes I enjoy more. It is a way to shape the year gone by with a positive spin, and focus on the things that brought learning, meaning, and value.

Here are some (not all) of mine for 2017 (I’ve omitted the more private ones).

This year, I’m grateful for:

You, for being part of this email thing. I’ve received so many lovely and encouraging responses, and every one makes me want to keep going, Which I will.

New music, which brought new joys. (Want a weird one? check out Festivalzeit (Apple Music) by Losamol Mundart. Did I mention I have a penchant for German pop and rock? This one is a bit more rappy, but catchy.)

First of all, happy holiday of your choice, fellow human. We’re a celebrate-Solstice-then-act-like-sloths-for-a-couple-of-days kind of family. Which means that, practically speaking, any craziness of the season is behind us. As I write, Billie and Tamsin are enjoying future cool thing recommendation Jane the Virgin (no link, but it’s on Netflix), while I grab some quiet time at the computer.

This week, I wanted to share with you some of the books I’ve enjoyed in 2017, in case you need some written or audiobook entertainment over the holiday period. Most of them were not published this year, but were the ones I’ve read or listened to all the way through. You can see the full list of what I read this year up on Goodreads (and while you’re there, give me a follow, if you’re interested.) (Links below are all Amazon.)

I previously recommended as cool things my favourite books of the year. In fiction, it was Max Barry’s Lexicon (along with his Jennifer Government), and in non-fiction John Cleese’s So, Anyway…. You can read my thoughts about them on my Cool Things page.

So, let’s look at some others.

I’ve become quite the fan of John Scalzi, and read four of his this year. My favourite this year was Lock In, followed by his most famous work, Old Man’s War (book one in a series). One of my overall Scalzi favourites was read in a previous year, Redshirts, which might or might not have been inspired by the red shirted characters on a certain popular TV space-based show. If you’ve not read any of him, and like sci-fi with humour, he’s worth a go.

From the speculative fiction department is N. K. Jemison, who is a multi-award-winning author, including the 2016 Hugo for The Fifth Season, and the 2017 Hugo for its sequel, The Obelisk Gate, which I enjoyed this year. Both books include some second-person writing, which is pretty rare, and works in a very interesting way. Also, Jemison is female and a woman of colour, which is a pleasant change in a world of writing dominated white dudes.

Policy analysts at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta were told of the list of forbidden terms at a meeting Thursday with senior CDC officials who oversee the budget, according to an analyst who took part in the 90-minute briefing. The forbidden terms are “vulnerable,” “entitlement,” “diversity,” “transgender,” “fetus,” “evidence-based” and “science-based.”

In some instances, the analysts were given alternative phrases. Instead of “science-based” or ­“evidence-based,” the suggested phrase is “CDC bases its recommendations on science in consideration with community standards and wishes,” the person said. In other cases, no replacement words were immediately offered.

Holy guacamole, this made me livid. For one, I agree with what Gruber said. For another, this sort of thing is the stuff of authoritarianism. It comes on top of the Environmental Protection Agency being forced to remove from its website resources for local governments relating to climate change.

All of this is unacceptable. Completely.

Now, my life is words. I put them together in ways people can understand and (I hope) enjoy to make my living. I believe, as Godin says, words matter—the ones we choose, how we say them, and who we say them to. How we choose to talk to our neighbours, our children, and our animals shapes the world we live in. Our words give us a chance to make things better, if we choose well.

I think that’s why the CDC thing plugged me in so much. That sort of anti-science, anti-reason, artificial restriction does not move us all forward as a society, expand our knowledge, or bring us together as people. It tries to perpetuate a close-minded point of view that would hold all of us back.

What we think of words changes over time. Remember George Carlin’s Seven words you can’t say on TV? (Needless to say, that link is NSFW.) (Also, embedded below.) When Carlin did that routine several decades ago, it was cutting edge stuff. These days, you hear most of them on TV all the time, certainly if you’re a streamer with Netflix and the like. Agree with that change or not, that change has happened.

Do I think all words are appropriate in all situations? Of course not. I didn’t swear in front of my grandma, and still wouldn’t. Learning when words are and are not appropriate in social settings is an important skill for our young’uns to learn.

But that’s all different. That’s about respect, appropriate usage in setting, and learning to get along with people.

The actions of the dumpster fire’s administration? That’s about repression.

Well, stuff that. I sincerely hope that at every public appearance from here on, all of the people behind this decision are faced with placards proclaiming those words loudly and boldly.

Because words matter. And so do actions.

(Separately: congrats Aussie legislators for finally doing what they should have done months and years ago, and passing marriage equality laws. About effing time.)

There’s a guy named Tim Whitwell who’s a consultant with Fluxx who does a list of 52 Things I Learned each year. Here’s 2017 and here’s 2016. A couple of gems from this year:

2. Traders in Shenzhen electronics markets now rely on smartphone translation apps to communicate — not just with foreigners, but with people speaking other Chinese dialects. [Mark Pesce]

29. Amazon Echo can be useful for people suffering from Alzheimers’: “I can ask Alexa anything and I get the answer instantly. And I can ask it what day it is twenty times a day and I will still get the same correct answer.” [Rick Phelps]

34. An American TV viewer who watches Netflix rather than normal ad-funded television could avoid 160 hours of ads every year. That’s equivalent to a month of eight hour working days. [Dan Calladine]

41. Men travelling first class tend to weigh more than those in economy, while for women the reverse is true. [Lucy Hooker]

52. Ten out of twelve British water companies sometimes still use divining rods to search for leaks. [Sally Le Page]

This got me thinking. What have I learned in 2017? (Mine are more personal that Whitwell’s, and not all were necessarily learned this year, but may have been reinforced.)

If you are overzealous enjoying archery for the first time in many, many years, you can both have fun *and* pull a muscle that helps you end up spending a week in bed.

Sometimes the process can be flawed, even painful, but the right outcome can still result. (I’m looking at you, marriage equality in Australia).

It can take a long time, but sometimes bad behaviour gets its just desserts. And sometimes, those in power will ignore it for their own ends. The latter is is odious as it has ever been.

Sometime people you admire do things you don’t admire, and it matters. (Al Franken, anyone?) (See also What Do We Do With the Art of Monstrous Men?, which I’ve considered writing about but don’t think I have anything to add.)

Going to live rock/pop concerts has the capacity to make you feel both young and old at the same time.

It is never easy to share your life with someone and then have to bury them. This applies, of course, to animals as well as people.

If you detach yourself from the brain suck of social media, you tend to feel better.

It is OK to leave old, familiar podcasts behind if they no longer fit your head space. This applies to people, too.

Having a 22-year-old daughter is a delight.

Comparison-itis is debilitating. So don’t. Just don’t.

Making time for things that matter helps you make time again for things that matter.

Don Miguel Ruiz’s second agreement continues to be valuable (along with the other three, of course).

I once again am looking forward to new Doctor Who episodes. I didn’t think that would happen.

It is, in fact, possible that a dumpster fire will end up in charge. Despite this, good people will continue to do good. (This may or may not be about the person you might think it is about.)

An almost ten-year-old computer can still make a positive contribution to one’s life, if just.

There is no need to rush into being part of the Internet of Things. Other people can work out the kinks, especially those that have to do with security.

Putting out a weekly email is trickier than I thought, and more enjoyable than I expected. Also, sometimes “weekly” is “weekly-ish”.

It is still true that when people are kind, things are better. So being kind to others is still worthwhile.
25 1/2. Kindness toward animals (especially by not eating them) is as rewarding as anything on the planet. (OK, I learned that a long time ago. That’s why it’s 1/2. Still worth including.)

I’m sure I’ll think of more as soon as I post this, but for now, that seems like enough lessons.

We grow up with them, and they become part of how we operate. Sometimes you know they are there (like washing hands before eating), and sometimes we don’t.

Today, I share with you something you do as a native English speaker that you didn’t know you did, but for which there is, indeed, a rule. When I read about it, I had a small *mind blown* moment, and had to share it with you.

That’s because (and here it is:) adjectives in English follow a set pattern. As author Mark Forsyth puts it in The Elements of Eloquence:

“Adjectives in English absolutely have to be in this order: opinion-size-age-shape-colour-origin-material-purpose Noun. So you can have a lovely little old rectangular green French silver whittling knife. But if you mess with that word order in the slightest you’ll sound like a maniac. It’s an odd thing that every English speaker uses that list, but almost none of us could write it out. And as size comes before colour, green great dragons can’t exist.”

Mind blown.

But wait, you say. What about “big bad wolf”? (Well, I didn’t think that. If you did, points to you.) “Bad” is an opinion. It should come first. The article covers that one as well, with a rule called “ablaut reduplication.” From the article:

“Other examples of the rule in action include chit-chat, singsong, flipflop and hip-hop. When you shift vowel sounds for effect this way, the vowels always follow a specific order: I, then A, then O. You’d think it was more complicated, that it depended on mood or context, but no, it’s that simple – bish bash bosh.”*

Once again, mind blown.

Like I said, just had to share that with you.

*Note: I edited the above quote to be “bish bash bosh,” following the rule given. At the time of writing, if you clicked to the article, they had it as “bosh bash bish,” which runs counter to the point the paragraph is making. I suspect a small error mistake.